Raven and the Dancing Tiger (3 page)

They left the two-lane and drove up a winding hill on a road only wide enough for one-and-a-half cars, then switched to another road made of dirt. Petie had never been on a road made of dirt before. He liked how the car left a huge cloud of dust behind it, as well as how the tires jiggled from all the rocks.

They kept climbing. Mean pine trees crouched next to the road and hid the sky. It looked dark in these woods, with lots of thorns and bushes to keep people on the road. Finally, they made one last turn and the trees fell away.

A huge, white stone building thrust out from the sheer cliff wall to the right. To the left, the whole valley opened again, and all Petie could see was sky.

As soon as the car stopped, Petie undid his seat belt. He knew he wasn't supposed to, but he'd been sitting in the car for hours and hours and
hours
. Mom opened the door and put a hand in the middle of his chest before he tumbled out on his own.

"You remember to be polite," Mom warned before she let him out of the car.

"Yes, ma'am," Petie said.

Why would she tell him that, and not to be careful?

The air stopped Petie from running more than a few steps: It had looked sunny and warm outside, but it wasn't at all—it was sunny and
cold
, the worst kind of weather ever. The great white cliff to the right looked rocky, dusty, and cold, too. Only the open valley seemed welcoming; though the grass was winter brown, the pines were deeply green. And beyond them the land just seemed to go on forever, an ocean of earth.

Petie wrapped his arms across his chest, giving one big shiver.

"Come here," Mom said. She held his grey hoodie in her hand.

"
Woop
!" Petie cried, racing back to his mom. He snatched the hoodie and dove into it, shivering again as the warm, soft fabric covered his bare arms. His legs weren't cold at least; his jeans kept him warm enough.

When he poked his head out, he saw Dad standing a few feet away, talking with a tall, gray-haired man.

"Who's that?" Petie asked, reaching for Mom's hand when they both turned and looked at him with the same sharp gaze.

"The prefect, I guess," Mom said, giving his hand a slight squeeze. "Let's go say hello."

Mom wasn't scared, was she? That didn't make sense, though this was Dad's school, and just for him and his relatives, and not for her. She'd gone to a regular school. She'd even told him once that she wished he could go to regular school too, even though he didn't really understand what she meant.

"Okay," Petie said, but he still dragged his feet a little, staying behind his mom. She let him go slowly. Then he noticed that if he scuffed his shoes, he'd kick up dust on the road. He tried both hard and soft little kicks, fascinated with how the dust rose and fell.

"Petie," Mom said, a warning in her voice.

He nodded. He knew what she was saying.
Don't get your shoes dirty.

When Mom stopped, Petie looked up. The prefect had the same dark skin that he and his dad had. His eyes were gray, too, and they were sharper than Mrs.
Fredickson's
, his old kindergarten teacher who saw everything, even when she wasn't in the room. His nose was big and hard, like it had been carved out of extra-tough rock.

Dad made the introduction. "Petie, this is Prefect Aaron."

Petie let go of Mom's hand, wiping the sweat off on his jeans before extending it.

"Peter," the prefect said, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. "Very nice to meet you."

The prefect's hand was huge and both of Petie's could have fit inside it. But Petie liked the way the prefect had said his name, using the grown-up form. He liked how deep his voice sounded, and the funny accent as well.

"Where are you from?" Petie asked.

"Peter," Mom scolded.

"From England, originally," the prefect said. "But I came to your country a long time ago to help run this school."

"School?" Petie asked. He scowled at his dad. This was supposed to be a
vacation
, not more school.

"Ravens' Hall," the prefect said, waving toward the white building. "But don't you worry, young man. No boring classrooms for you. Come, let me show you the grounds. And your rooms. You can fetch your things from the car later."

"Okay," Petie said, eager to explore.

Though the prefect's eyes were still sharp, his smile warmed the rest of his face. "Did you drive here from Denver?"

"We did! But we flew when it was too dark to see," Petie added, giving his mom and dad a look. "The road, though…there was sky…"

"I know, Peter, I know." The prefect looked over his shoulder and said, "You brought him here at the right time."

"What do you mean?" Petie asked, tired of the secret talk that the adults kept having right in front of him.

"You'll see," the prefect said, his smile suddenly colder. "Have you eaten?"

"No, we—"

A raucous squawking cut Petie off. "What's that?"

"The ravens," the prefect said, waving toward the hall. "They're all saying hello."

They'd drawn close enough to the building that Petie could now see that every window had black iron railings bolted above and below it. Every window also had tiny porches, just wide enough for someone to stand on. Huge black birds stood on every railing, sometimes three or four of them bunched together, cawing loudly.

Petie stopped walking. The noise made him shiver. He glanced behind him.

Dad was grinning. He looked like he wanted to race forward and join them.

Mom looked startled, and maybe a little scared. She glanced at Dad, then down at Petie.

"Let's go say hello, too," Mom said, giving Petie a little smile before taking his hand and starting to walk again.

Petie shook his head but followed along, a little afraid now of the big white building and the hundreds of birds.

But at the back of his mind lay a calming thread.

Blue skies.

* * *

After dinner in the noisy cafeteria in the basement, Petie yawned his way to his room, still protesting, "But I'm not ready to go to bed!" His stomach was comfortably full of Tater Tots and hamburgers, and ice-cold milk that had tasted richer than what he was used to.

Dad stood in the doorway that joined their two rooms. "Your eyes are already at half mast. I can see the shades drawing from here."

Petie giggled and flopped his face down on the thick, soft blankets of the bed that was just his size. "Can you see them now?"

Dad just laughed. "Get ready for bed, you. We'll do more exploring tomorrow."

Petie flipped onto his back. The ceiling wasn't very interesting. Nothing in the room was, really. The walls were painted a dark cream color, like Mom's fancy coffee drinks that still tasted too much like coffee. They didn't have any pictures or posters or anything cool—they were just plain walls.

What drew his attention was the skinny door and wide windows that covered the far wall. Earlier that afternoon, Petie had slid open the door, surprised at how strongly the wind had pushed at him. The balcony was barely big enough for him to stand on. The bottom of it was just rails, not boards. Anything he dropped would go all the way to the ground.

In front of Petie, the whole valley had spread out. The brown grass wound down and disappeared into the tall pines and leafless trees that went on and on.

Above them, though, was all that sky.

Petie found he'd gotten up and walked to the windows again without really thinking about it. He put his hand up, touching the cold glass. Stars shone in the velvet night sky; the trees were hidden, but Petie could still smell them, sweet pine and dusty oaks.

"Later, sport," Dad said.

Petie startled with a squawk.

"Bed."

Petie brushed his teeth in the sink next to the door, used the bathroom down the hall, then changed into his comfy flannel PJs.

Dad came back in the room to tuck him in.

"Where's Mom?"

"She's meeting some people downstairs," Dad said, smoothing his hand over the top of the soft blankets. "You'll see her in the morning."

Dad's words felt like a lie. Mom was downstairs, but she was doing something else, something important. However, Petie was too sleepy to argue, fascinated by the rhythm of his dad's hand: It felt like he were smoothing down the rough edges everywhere, even inside of Petie.

"Good night, my son," Dad said. His voice sounded like it came from the other room, though Petie would swear he still sat on the bed.

Petie struggled to open his eyes.

He must have been dreaming already because it was like two of Dad were there—the one that looked like Dad still sitting on the bed, and the taller one standing next to the windows, covered in a huge, black-feathered cape.

* * *

When Petie woke later, it was dark in the room. The only light came from the windows. Curious, he climbed out of the bed and glided across the floor, everything smoother and easier than ever before.

It wasn't cold at all when he stepped outside onto the broad balcony, and there was no wind, though he remembered Dad saying that it was always windy in Wyoming. The air still smelled clean and cool, like it had just blown in, fresh off the mountains in the distance.

Hundreds of ravens filled the valley, their glossy black feathers sheened and silvery in the moonlight. Their cawing made it hard to hear anything else. The sound rose and fell, like waves on the ocean.

A deep moan made Petie realize he wasn't alone on the balcony.

A huge bird shuffled from one foot to the other in the corner. Its golden eyes were the only light thing about it.

"Hey, it's okay," Petie told the bird as he knelt down on the hard rails. Petie didn't understand why he wasn't scared, crawling along the long length of the balcony over to the bird, but he wasn't.

"It's okay." Petie hunched over next to the bird, not trying to touch it.

The bird cawed at Petie, then looked out at his friends dancing on the wind.

"You should go with them," Petie told the bird, convinced he understood him. "I'll be fine here, on my own."

The bird cocked his head one way, then the other, before he gave a squawking leap and jumped up to the top of the balcony railing. He cawed once more, looking back at Petie.

"It's all right. You go."

A part of Petie wanted the bird to stay and keep him company. It was a little lonely here, up at the top of the world, all by himself. But part of him, which sounded like his mom's voice inside his head, knew it wasn't right for the bird to stay.

The bird bobbed its head a couple of times, as if saying, "Yes," then he flew off the railing, diving into the night.

Petie couldn't really follow him—the dark and the other ravens hid him. But he thought he flew close to his balcony at least once or twice. He stood in the strangely warm darkness, watching the antics of the birds, envying how gracefully they flew through the sky.

Soon, a smaller bird landed on the balcony. Instead of the golden eyes of the larger bird, it had gray, misty-colored eyes, like Petie's. Its feathers shone glossy black, new and strong.

"You're pretty," Petie told it.

You're not,
came the squawked reply, somewhere inside Petie's head.

Not words, but impressions, came next: weak arms, legs too long, only hair, not enough feathers.

"Oh," Petie said, hurt deep in his chest, like the time Mom and Dad had fought so badly (
over him, it was always over him
) that she'd left for two days.

Petie pushed his back against the rough wall of the building and looked down, down, and down and down, through the cold, hard rails to the ground below.

Would it be softer down there?

Caw.

Petie looked up.

Not ground. Sky.

Petie remembered the amazing sky from that afternoon. How blue and wide and open it had seemed.

"Blue sky."

He longed with all his soul to go into it, to taste the clouds and cool rain, to bask in unending sunshine, to spiral on warm breezes and coast on ocean winds.

Blue sky.

When Petie looked down again, the raven—Cai—was nestled in his arms.

Together they watched their brothers dance, knowing that soon,
soon
, they'd be able to join them.

In the morning, Petie woke all the way up, still in his bed, under the covers, with Cai inside him, nestled snugly around his heart.

Peter curled up at the back of Cai's mind, cold and shivering with fear. Leaves slapped Cai's wings as he flew up, trying to avoid the massive tree the dark had hidden. With a tremendous squawk he landed on one of the top branches. It bent under his weight, sending them plunging back toward the mass of the tree.

Fly! Fly!
Peter urged.

Cai took off again, curving up hard to avoid the electrical wire that suddenly cut them off, landing safely in next tree.

But that tree hadn't fully bloomed: tiny leaves covered the branches, leaving them exposed, even in the night.

Go, go, go,
Peter said.

Cai agreed wearily and flapped to the next tree. More leaves, but still, not safe.

Up?
Peter suggested, looking upwards toward the dark sky, the helpful stars hidden by the city lights.

Bright,
Cai explained.

Up above the streetlights they'd never be able to get back down: All they'd see would be the light.

Slowly they made their way, by tree, car, and building, block by block, until they reached Peter's apartment building. His kitchen was on the far side of the construction, away from the lights.

Peter always kept the kitchen window cracked. Even from the nearby tree he could smell the toast he'd burned for breakfast.

Home,
Peter urged Cai.

Cai flew up, clawing at the sill, then folding himself up and pushing himself into the apartment. Then he hopped from the sill to the kitchen counter, puffing his feathers up and shaking.

Just enough light came in from the windows to see the drying dishes on the counter; the coffeemaker all set up on the breakfast bar; the pale, clean linoleum floor.